Genetic Issues at the London Sperm Bank
On December 29th, 2015, the Guardian reported that the London Sperm Bank is being investigated for discriminating against people with disabilities. The bank had turned away a man with dyslexia; it had published a 2010 pamphlet with a long list of disqualifying “neurological diseases,” including dyslexia, autism, ADHD, and other conditions.
Vanessa Smith—described as a “quality manager at the JD Healthcare Group,” the bank’s parent organization—defended the bank. Backpedaling without budging an inch, she said that the pamphlet had been withdrawn and policies would be reviewed. Still, little seems likely to change. According to Smith, “We are looking for someone who is medically clear of infectious diseases and genetic issues that may possibly be passed on to any resulting child.” She also claimed, “We definitely don’t work in eugenics.” She may mean something like, “In the popular mind, ‘eugenics’ is associated with Nazis, an association we wish to avoid.” But to shape future children, based on a policy that describes human variation as disease, is by definition eugenic. The bank’s currency is genes, and it wants good ones.
Smith’s grouping of “infectious diseases” with “genetic issues” is significant. Both are disqualifiers: in the view of the London Sperm Bank, they make the sperm unsuitable to produce a future human being. In the Guardian article, people with dyslexia were quoted, questioning the Bank’s criteria. My interest is less in the specific items on the list, or in the need for one—of course a prospective mother would prefer to have a child free of, say, hepatitis-C—than in the neutral, euphemistic vagueness of the phrase genetic issues, and the way it tends to pathologize human variation. (When I think of our rapidly increasing, fine-grained knowledge of human genetic variation, and the pressures that turn said variations into Issues, I imagine the pans of a giant balance. On one side is the gigantic and growing pile of genomic data, and on the other side is an equally gigantic but correspondingly undifferentiated idea, a blobby sense of abnormality stuffed into a neutral-sounding word, like issues. Even as we generate specificity, we generate vagueness, ideas and words capacious enough to suggest all that is different from an undefined norm, and therefore undesirable.)
Specifics imply caring. To lump together a vast array of conditions as “genetic issues” suggests an unconcern about the radical differences between said conditions, and a lack of interest in exploring the question. (Of course, the ability to predict and select makes precisely those explorations necessary.) Conversely, the pamphlet is obsessively specific about Different Brains, even to the point of redundancy: forbidden are ADD and ADHD, autism and Asperger’s (yes, a special Not Welcome Mat is spread out for you, high-functioning Different Person), and both “mental retardation” and Down syndrome. Since men with Down syndrome are thought to be sterile, the prohibition seems—well, let’s just say it’s on the cautious side.
Disease and disability are different but overlapping categories. There is no tidy division between them. But the (evolving) criteria of the London Sperm Bank pathologize pretty much everything not nailed down. Autism is not a disease. Neither is dyslexia. Neither are unambiguously genetic, in the way that Tay-Sachs or Down syndrome is. Cerebral palsy can occur without genetic influence at all. But since these conditions may have a significant genetic component, they’re on the list. This is the one-drop rule for the new millennium: any hint of a disorder that may or may not be genetic is, in this scenario, sufficient to disqualify its bearer. The London Sperm Bank’s approach to human difference can be thought of in terms of Russian nesting dolls: inside Difference is Medicalization, which opens to reveal Geneticization.
We are always thinking/not thinking about disability, it is always just beneath the surface of our days and discussions, and I am interested in the places where our ideas break into the open. Discussions of future humans provide one place: they are virtual arenas of the normal and abnormal, where our assumptions bubble up to the surface. Because we seem to be discussing only the prospect of dyslexia or mental illness, and not specific people with those conditions, no actual person appears to be directly harmed. We are only discussing an A vs. B scenario, one where A (a future human without dyslexia) appears clearly preferable, the better choice. All other things being equal, that is.
This is flawed for several reasons, the first being that all things are never equal; the second being that we are talking about present people with dyslexia when we imply dyslexia is serious enough to disqualify a future person; and the third being that actual people with different brains are being discriminated against in the present: in the minor way of not being allowed to donate to a specific sperm bank, and in the major way of being publicly described as lesser humans, as unwelcome.
George Estreich received his M.F.A. in poetry from Cornell University. His first book, a collection of poems entitled Textbook Illustrations of the Human Body, won the Gorsline Prize from Cloudbank Books. His memoir about raising a daughter with Down syndrome, The Shape of the Eye, was published in SMU Press’ Medical Humanities Series. Praised by Abraham Verghese as “a poignant, beautifully written, and intensely moving memoir,” The Shape of the Eye was awarded the 2012 Oregon Book Award in Creative Nonfiction. Estreich lives in Oregon with his family.
Previously on Biopolitical Times:
- The Rhetorical Two-Step: Steven Pinker, CRISPR, and Disability
- “High IQ Eggs Wanted” – ads appeal to ego and altruism, offer $10,000
- Universal Newborn Genome Sequencing and Generation Alpha
- Disability Will Never Be Immoral
Image via Pixabay